


for all the hurt that you feel

by rook_fern



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: Domestic Defenders, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Jessica Jones Cares, Matt Murdock Needs a Hug, Post-Episode: s01e08 The Defenders, Sick Character, Sick Matt Murdock, making amends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2019-02-22 20:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rook_fern/pseuds/rook_fern
Summary: Matt gets sick, and being the disaster he is, he has no idea how to deal with it. Some friends step in to help.





	for all the hurt that you feel

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sick with a horrible cold and I can't really do anything besides write so voila~ I've been wanting to write some more Matt Murdock recently, so I decided to put him through the same hell I'm going through. Sorry, buddy.
> 
> Title from Illusion by VNV Nation.

Matt was sick. He’d picked up a nasty cold somewhere, though whether it was from his nightly Daredeviling or his day job, he couldn’t tell. Swallowing made fire light in his throat, and the pain almost set his ears to ringing. The sore throat wasn’t the worst of it, though. His skin felt flushed and too-warm despite the fact that he was haunted by a permanent chill. The only good part was that he hadn’t gotten congested… yet. Congestion was a pain in itself; it fiddled with his senses and made everything seem wrapped in cotton.

At some point during the day, after he had managed to choke down a few pieces of toast for lunch, he had settled on his ragged couch. Two blankets were draped over his shoulders and wound tightly around his form. They were soft and warm—as were all his blankets and linen—but the cold made them scratch and irritate his skin as bad as wool did. A glass of water was set on the end table to his left, half-filled and forgotten after a few sips.

He’d been sitting on the couch for hours—he knew that much at least. Aches gripped his muscles and held him stiff, and even the faint urge to pee didn’t rouse him from his huddled state. To add to the fire, his thoughts were muddled by a headache that wouldn’t go away. To pass the time, he switched between stretching his senses out as far as the headache would allow and trying to meditate most of the pain away. It didn’t help that his chest was riddled with bruises from the prior night; so  _ maybe _ going out as Daredevil with a developing cold on the chilliest night of the year hadn’t been the greatest idea…

A knock on the door shook him out of his hazy revery. Was he expecting someone?

“Matt, open the door before I kick it down.”

_ Oh, right. _ Jessica. He had invited her to Josie’s for drinks last week. He was supposed to meet her on the street corner outside his apartment. Had he really forgotten that?

“Alright, I’m coming…” He called in return, wincing internally at how much his voice grated against his throat. He left one of the blankets behind and dragged the other one with him like a cloak; slowly, he plodded towards the door. Stifling a cough brought about by the yelling, he opened the door to a disgruntled Jessica. Her arms were crossed as she raked her eyes up and down his hunched form.

“You look like shit.” Her words were spat, as they usually were, but they carried an undertone of concern.

“Thanks, I hadn’t noticed.” Matt mustered the most sarcastic voice he could. He stood aside, a silent invitation for her to come in. Wordlessly, she obliged. She probably rolled her eyes at his comment, and she replied with a breathy snort.

“You didn’t show. I thought you’d finally met your end in the bottom of a dumpster.”

Matt followed her into the living space. “Worried?” He couldn’t keep his lip from curling slightly.

Jessica’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrugging motion as Matt repositioned himself on his couch. The leather had grown cold in his absence, and it burned against his heated skin.

“Eh. You promised me free beer. I was worried about not getting it.”

Again, Matt’s lips twitched up in a ghost of a grin. “Of course.” His voice came out more gravelly than it had before, and he absently searched for the glass of water with a fumbling hand. He didn’t say anything when the glass was thrust into his grasp by Jessica’s cold fingers. He could tell she was scrutinizing him closely as he sipped at the water. The cool liquid soothed his dry throat, but it made him grimace all the same.

“So… sick?”

Matt huffed. “Yeah.”

“You could’ve just called and said you couldn’t make it. Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve skipped out.”

He ran his tongue over his dry lips. “I didn’t—what time is it?” His fingers ran over his wrist before he realized his watch wasn’t there; it was on nightstand beside his bed—where his phone was.

“Jesus, Murdock…” Jessica’s form straightened, and a small object hummed to life with a flare of faint heat in her hand. She was checking her phone. “Just after eight.”

Matt’s brow furrowed as he digested that fact. Had he really been sitting on his couch the entire afternoon? It would explain the extreme stiffness that had set into his spine.

Jessica heaved a sigh. “I came for drinks. I didn’t sign up for this shit.”

“You don’t—”

“Shut up.” Jessica cut him off. “Yeah, I do.”

“Didn’t know you cared so much.”

“I don’t.” Jessica’s voice sounded from farther away, and Matt noted that she had moved to his kitchen. The cupboards clanged as she rummaged through them. “I just don’t want Claire on my case when I have to call her up ‘cause you’re half-dead from a fever.”

_ Sure.  _ Jessica had an odd way of showing affection for her friends. Like how she had knocked him flat on his ass after he had returned to Hell’s Kitchen after his “resurrection”. Or how she had saved him from drowning in his own blood in a dumpster by hauling him to Claire’s—by his collar like a kitten, she was always quick to remind him.

Matt was startled out of his musings when a bowl of steaming soup was plunked down on the table in front of him. He must have been really out of it to not notice that Jessica had made soup and returned to the couch.

“Thanks…” He mumbled into the soup as he picked it up. It smelled of chicken and carrots—chicken noodle soup, probably from one of the cans he kept stashed in the back of his cupboards for emergencies. The steam tickled his nose and crept down his throat, spurring him into a bout of coughing. When the coughing subsided, he picked up the spoon and lifted some of the broth to his lips. He sputtered out a hiss as the hot metal scalded him, but he slurped down the soup nonetheless. The liquid eased the throbbing in his throat a little, at least.

“When was the last time you showered?”  _ Did he really look that shitty? _

Matt shrugged vaguely. “When was the last time you did?” He shot back over the rim of his bowl.

“Touché.” Jessica finally sat down on the couch, leaning across the other armrest. Her scent wreathed around Matt; it smelled of hard liquor, dried sweat, and something sweeter—the cologne Danny usually wore.

“How’re Danny and Colleen?” He forced the words around a few noodles, trying to make conversation. It was obvious she had visited recently; the cologne was strong, but it wasn’t a smell that stuck around long.

The question didn’t catch Jessica off guard, not like those types of questions used to. She had gotten used to him picking apart her day with a single sniff. “Eh. Same old. Danny wants you to come over to the dojo at some point so you can ‘teach him how to fight in the dark.’ His words, not mine.”

A grin split Matt’s face. Danny still acted very much like a kid around him, always curious about how he did things; he was always blunt with his questions, never dancing around the subject of Matt’s blindness. “I’ll think about it.”

The conversation didn’t last, though, much to Matt’s disappointment. It tapered off, and the only sounds were Jessica tapping at her phone and Matt eating his soup. When only a few spoonfuls of broth remained, Matt set the bowl aside and kicked away the blanket that was tangled around his legs. The fabric was overbearing and parts of it were sticking to his skin.

Once he was free from the blankets, Matt stood slowly. Any sense of balance left him, and he stumbled against the coffee table. Nausea made his stomach swoop, and he swallowed thickly.

Jessica watched him with a raised eyebrow. “Where’re you going?”

“Bathroom.” He mumbled, steadying himself against the arm of the couch.

“Why? You going to be sick? ‘Cause I don’t want to have to clean up any vomit.”

Matt paused, halfway across the living room. “No. I, uh—I just haven’t gone since lunch.” His cheeks lit up a little from embarrassment, and he hoped that he was already flushed enough to hide the blush.

“Okay. Whatever. Just don’t fall over.” Jessica eyed him for a moment longer before returning her attention to her phone.

Matt rolled his eyes at his friend before continuing his journey towards the bathroom. He did his business as quickly as possible, sure that at any moment, Jessica would pop in thinking he’d tripped over the bath mat.

He managed to return to the couch without stumbling over anything, but he could feel Jessica’s hawk-like stare on him the entire time. “I’m not made of glass, y’know.” He grumbled as he pulled the blankets back around his shoulders. “M’not going to shatter if I trip over something.”

“Really? Could’ve fooled me.” Jessica’s tone was dry.

Matt couldn’t think of a rebuttal, so he settled for making a noncommittal grunting noise and burrowing into the folds of the blanket. Knowing she had won, Jessica gave a small grin. Her phone was held up in his direction, and it made a soft camera sound.

“What’re you doin’?” Most of Matt’s words were muffled by the fabric crowding his face.

“Mhm… getting blackmail material.” Jessica pocketed the phone and shot him a smirk; she obviously knew he would be able to pick up the smug expression.

Matt huffed again and closed his eyes. He could get her back later, he decided. If he tried anything now, he’d probably just make more of a fool of himself.

He must have drifted off because when he awoke, Jessica was gone and the city outside his window was sleeping. It must have been somewhere around midnight, he figured; the streets outside were as quiet as they got, and the only sounds around his apartment were fighting alley cats and the humming of the billboard.

Clumsily, Matt untangled himself from the blankets and plodded aimlessly around his apartment. He retrieved his phone first and checked it for any new messages. He had two, he was informed by an overly-loud machine voice.

One was from Jessica, saying she had gotten tired of watching him drool and had gone home, and that Claire was coming over in the morning with medicine. The other was from Foggy, asking if he was okay—which was odd, since Foggy had wanted nothing to do with him since he had returned from the dead. Jessica must’ve told him that Matt was sick, likely spinning an over-exaggerated tale. Out of Danny, Claire, Karen, Luke, and Jessica, she was the most vocal about him and Foggy making amends.  _ So he would stop wallowing at her place instead of going to Foggy’s, _ she claimed.

Forcing himself to swallow the lump in his throat, Matt pressed the call back button. The line rang a few times before asking if Matt wanted to leave a message. He did. “Hey, Foggy.” His voice was gravelly, sounding on the verge of cracking. “I, uh—I got your message. I’m… I’m fine—” He paused; he was calling in the middle of the night, and he sounded like hell warmed over. “It’s just a cold…” He amended. “Nothing to worry about. I don’t know what Jessica told you, but it’s probably all lies.” A smile lit his face, and he didn’t bother to wipe it away. “I’ll… talk to you later, Buddy.”

After he ended the call, he regretted throwing the nickname in there. He and Foggy hadn’t called each other buddy since the Harlem precinct. His sleep-addled thoughts were consumed over how Foggy would react to the name or if he would even notice it at all.

Phone in hand, Matt trudged back into the living space. It was nearly silent, and the faint air currents rebounded oddly off of the single glass of water—now refilled—perched on the end table. Matt picked up the glass and swilled the water around before taking a draught of it. The action of swallowing still made his throat seize, but at least the pain had lessened to mild irritation.

Setting the water and phone aside, Matt gathered up the blankets. For a moment, he simply stood there, his head angled in the direction of the blankets in his arms. On the edge of his hearing, he could make out the screams of a man being mugged. His fingers dug into the soft fabric, and he gritted his teeth together. He was in no shape to go out—even he had enough sense to know that. But… the man’s cries grew sharp and then cut off. To hell with it.

Matt grabbed the closest piece of cloth he could find—a scarf hanging on a peg by his door—and tied it around the upper part of his head. His fingers fumbled a bit with the knot, and frustration grew in his chest. Finally, he managed to secure the scarf, and not a second later, he was prying open the window. He didn’t make it farther than the fire escape before the man’s cries returned and were joined by a much calmer-sounding voice.

It was a familiar voice. Tilting his head, Matt listened harder, doing his best to ignore the headache that was trying to make a raging comeback.  _ Danny _ , the recognition finally clicked. What was he doing in Hell’s Kitchen. Since Matt had returned, Danny had gone back to protecting just his city—and whatever else he protected.

Thumbing off the scarf, Matt listened as Danny approached his apartment by rooftop. There was a  _ shshing  _ of gravel and a loud clang as the Iron Fist—in full costume—dropped from the roof onto the fire escape where Matt stood.

Matt settled his blank gaze on the younger man’s face and raised an eyebrow in query. He did his best to channel a ‘withering glare’ look; he wasn’t sure he actually achieved the look. “What are you doing in Hell’s Kitchen?” He used his Daredevil voice—not that it was very hard, since his throat provided the gravelly huskiness free of charge.

He must have been doing something right because Danny shuffled uncomfortably. “It’s a free city, isn’t it?”

This time, Matt went for a pure ‘resting bitch face’, crossing his arms. “What is  _ the Iron Fist _ doing in Hell’s Kitchen?” He rephrased.

“Well, Jessica told me you were sick and that you would probably try to go out as Daredevil unless there was someone to stop you.” Danny’s tone gained a little steel, and he settled lightly against the corner of the fire escape.

Matt sighed softly, closing his eyes for a brief second. “She told everyone, didn’t she?”

Danny gave a shrug. “Guess so…” His attention flicked to the scarf in Matt’s hand. “You were going out, weren’t you?”

Matt shifted his stance, dropping his arms to his side. “If I let up, even for a moment, this city will just fall back to the way it was.” He tried to keep the weariness out of his voice—he really did—but it was there all the same.

“Jessica said you’d say something like that.”

Matt’s fingers twitched, and he gripped the piece of cloth in his fingers firmly. He tried again, softer this time. “If I don’t go out there, if something happens, that’s on me—because I didn’t stop it.”

Danny laughed aloud. “Jess said you’d say that, too. She also told me to tell you that you’re—and I quote:  _ ‘not guilty for all of Hell’s Kitchen’s bullshit, and you’re a selfish asshole for trying to take all the blame.’  _ ” He waved his fingers in the air as he spoke; making air quotes, Matt presumed.

He couldn’t help but laugh a little; the action made his throat sting, but Matt could easily picture Jessica relaying those angry words to Danny.

At his chuckle, Danny grinned. “So you’ll stay in for the night? No Daredevilling?”

“I—” Before Matt could deny the statement, Danny cut him off.

“I’ll watch your city, I promise. Nobody’ll get hurt tonight—well, except for the criminals.”

Matt wanted to refuse; he could watch his own city just fine, sick or not. Then he reconsidered the thought. What use would he be tonight? He could barely move a few feet without stumbling, and his muscles still ached dully. A cold breeze blew past the fire escape, and with a shiver, he was reminded of his fading fever. Going out tonight would be near suicide, wouldn’t it?

He rubbed his thumb over the grain of the scarf. “Fine.” He acquiesced.

Danny stood up straight, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Great.” He started back up towards the rooftop before pausing and looking back down. “Uh, get some rest and feel better soon.” He heaved himself over the edge, and he was gone.

Matt leaned against the metal railing for a few minutes longer and listened to the city before he was reminded just how cold it was. Suppressing a shiver, he slowly climbed back through the window and shut it behind him. After returning the scarf back to its peg, he grabbed his phone and the glass of water and retreated to his bedroom. Claire was coming by in the morning, he remembered, and he’d like to be chewed out as little as possible.

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed writing this little one-shot, so lemme know if you want to see more stuff like this.


End file.
